


Danse Macabre

by MurphyPi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy ending though, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Idiots in Love, Kinda?, Magic, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Possessive Bucky Barnes, Red Room (Marvel), Shamanism, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, Supernatural Elements, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, they're hot and cold, this is going to hurt so much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24629977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurphyPi/pseuds/MurphyPi
Summary: 1967. The Cold War is in full swing and graduates from the Black Widow Program in high demand. Zaya Markova has survived more than eight years at the Red Room when they bring in the Winter Soldier for their final training. His arrival uproots secrets better kept in the dark and all of Zaya’s beautifully crafted plans collapse like a puny house of cards.Biding her time in HYDRA’s chains with wrath brewing under her skin is the easiest exercise, though. Because Zaya has a long memory, an evil streak and a lot of patience.Never mind the unexpected discovery, that at times the renownedly homicidal Winter Soldier can be painfully human.“It wasn’t Russian enough for my father, so he gave me another name. Aleksandra”, Zaya said.“Which do you prefer?”, the Soldier asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone. Zaya tilted her head slightly.A wicked smirk turned up the corners of her mouth. “I like when you call me Sasha.” And she truly did. It was the only time she liked the name her father had given her. She saw surprise in his eyes. Then triumph and a deep satisfaction. Zaya’s lips curled a bit more. Possessive bastard.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of writing about a Black Widow has been rattling around in my brain for way too long. (Because I freakin' love Natasha!) So I sprinkled in some magic. A Mongolian/Russian OFC.  
> And here we go.
> 
> Please let me know, if I have been disrespectful in my wording/descriptions/etc of Zaya.  
> I do want to bring diversity into my writing and am here to learn and listen. The depiction of Zaya's magic, however, is only loosely based on shamanism. 
> 
> **Please also mind the trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter. This is not a happy-go-lucky ride.**
> 
> I hope you enjoy Zaya's journey!
> 
>  _  
> _  
>  **trigger warning:** _implied/referenced rape/non-con; violence; implied/referenced brainwashing; death_  
>  __  
>   
> 

**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 1st Sept 1958_**

_  
_

The rumbling of a car cut through the silence of Russian forests. The colourful leaves danced in the autumn winds like ballerinas, putting up their best performance before they fell to the ground to die.  
“I want you to behave”, the man driving the car said in a gravel tone. “It is an honour to be selected.”  
The little girl in the back of the car turned her head away from the window. “Yes, father”, she answered in a low tone. Deep-blue, almost as black as the midnight sky, eyes travelled from her father back to watch the leaves outside. An old palace appeared between the trees and the girl sat up a bit straighter to see better. Other cars were now also coming into sight and a gate in the thick walls surrounding the palace, open to swallow them all. Her father drove through the gate, the shadow of it shortly darkening the world, before the light returned and allowed sight of a beautiful palace with bulbous spires and large windows. Russian pomp from times long gone.  
Her father parked the car and the girl exited, her dark eyes trained on the building in front of her.  
“Here”, he said as he appeared next to her and handed her a small suitcase containing everything she owned. His pale-blue eyes locked onto hers.  
“Do your family proud”, he said sternly.  
“Of course, father”, the girl answered without lowering her gaze. It wasn’t his family she wanted to do proud, though. Her maternal grandfather had raised her after her mother’s death in childbirth. He had told her to go with her father, to find the woman painted in red and learn to see pain and death as a friend. He had told her, that she was the Great Wolf destined to mold the fate of the world. The girl wanted to do _him_ proud.  
Without another word her father returned to the car and drove off. The girl didn’t even bat an eyelash. She had only known him for a bit over five months and she was certain she wouldn’t see him again. Her dark eyes took in her surroundings, where other girls were dropped off by their families. Her small nose wrinkled at those who cried openly and ugly, tears and snot running down their faces. She also noticed, that all the other girls seemed to be older than her. 

A teenager with her hair in a tight bun approached her.  
“Follow me”, the elder girl said with a monotone voice and hard eyes. The little girl followed without questioning the cold welcome. She was led into a marvellous entrance hall made of white marble and gold. The teenager told her to shed her clothes and change into a sort of school uniform made of rough, dark stockings, a skirt, a blouse and a blazer with the soviet star on each shoulder. Once the other girls had changed too, they were all led outside again onto the now empty front court. The autumn wind biting at their skin and easily chasing through the thin material of their uniforms. Three elder girls in the same uniform told them to stand in a row and then they waited. 

The first girls started to shiver after five minutes. The wind played with the little girl’s dark hair. She had grown up in a nomadic Mongolian clan. She was used to the cold.  
After ten minutes, the first girls became restless. They shifted from one foot to another, pulling their arms around their upper bodies to keep warm. The three teenagers stood as still and unfazed as the little girl and maybe four or five other girls.  
Twenty minutes and even the little girl started to feel the cold creep into her bones. It was unpleasant, but nothing to worry about. She pressed her lips together to keep her teeth from chattering as a natural response.  
Thirty-five minutes and the large doors at the entrance of the palace finally opened once more. A woman in a military uniform, with pale-blond hair and an expression as icy as the Russian winter stepped in front of them. 

“Recruits”, she addressed them in that same monotone voice, that everyone seemed to talk in. “I am Madam B and you are here to do your country proud.” One of the teenagers stepped forward with a clipboard and looked over the twenty little girls in front of her.  
“Nadia Viktorova Kozlova”, she called up and a girl with ash-blonde hair stepped forward.  
“Why are you here, girl?”, Madam B asked.  
“To bring glory to the communist way”, the girl answered without hesitation. Madam B nodded and the girl was told to step back into line.  
“Anya Valentina Pavlovsky”, was called up next. A girl with light-brown hair in two braids and eyes puffy from crying stepped forward.  
“Why are you here, girl?”, Madam B asked again.  
“T-to do my c-country proud”, the girl said barely audible. There was no reaction on Madam B’s face, as the girl with the clipboard made a note on it.  
“Why are you here, girl?”, Madam B asked once more. The little girl looked up with wide eyes.  
“To do my country proud”, she answered again. A bit louder this time, but still with a slight questioning intonation. Madam B shook her head in silent disappointment.  
“Why are you here, girl?”, she asked again, gaze hard and voice monotone.  
“To do my country proud”, the girl answered. And this time Madam B nodded and the little girl was allowed to step back into line. It went on for all twenty of them. Until the last.  
“Aleksandra Ivanovna Markova.” The girl with midnight blue eyes and silken dark-brown hair stepped forward. She was tiny compared to the others, but she lifted her chin and looked at Madam B directly. Aleksandra wasn’t her name. Her name was Zaya, but that wasn’t Russian enough, so they had given her a proper Russian name. She was now Aleksandra Ivanovna Markova. No longer Zaya from the shaman clan.  
“Why are you here, girl?”, the blonde asked. Zaya didn’t have to think about it as her grandfather’s words echoed in her mind.  
“To make pain and death my friend”, she answered without hesitation. One of the elder girls shifted in her still stance. The one with the clipboard stilled her pen and looked at Madam B. The Madam’s eyes bored into Zaya’s, but the little girl held the stare. She was the Great Wolf. She would mold the fate of the world. And she would make pain and death her friend.  
Madam B nodded with a tiny curl of her lips. Zaya stepped back into line and the Madam let her eyes roam over the girls. 

“Welcome to the Red Room Academy.”

_  
_

* * *

_  
_

**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 31st December 1958_**

_  
_

The cold of the night still lingered in the hall, where their beds were put up as the lights went on. Zaya opened her eyes abruptly and waited patiently for the cuff around her left wrist to be opened. The cold metal still burnt and bit at her skin, her wrist still raw and red. She wasn’t yet used to it. But she would, with time. Zaya knew, that she would get used to the cuffs as she would get used to talking multiple languages without an accent or writing in a script, that gave nothing away about her person.  
She silently stepped into line to get to the washrooms and then to change into her uniform. They were sorted by age, which made Zaya always the last in line. It didn’t bother her. To be frank, Zaya was glad, that she had all other nineteen girls always in her line of sight easily. Her senses were trained by the harsh life of the Mongolian nomads. She was used to keeping her eyes pealed and her ears sharp. It was a blessing in disguise for the Red Room. They expected the girls to perform flawlessly. Failure was severely punished. 

But Zaya didn’t fail. She excelled in everything they told her to do. Her body was small, but it was used to strenuous labour from her nomadic life. She was younger than the others, but that meant she learnt easier and faster. English rolled like familiar waves from her tongue, whenever they watched American movies and were made to repeat it in exactly the same pronunciation. Then they would watch German movies. And French movies. And Arabian movies. And Chinese movies. And if anyone let their Russian accent bleed through the words they spoke, they were punished with extra ballet classes and a beating. Zaya had never had to experience that herself.  
Certainly, there were others just as good as her. Nadia Kozlova being always toe to toe with Zaya for being best. But enough of their classmates came back with bruises and bleeding from their punishment for failing to do as ordered.

Their days followed a strict schedule. They got their breakfast at exactly 0700 hours, containing the best nutrition for growing girls the flourishing Soviet Union could provide. It became visible in the way Zaya’s cheeks filled out and her muscles grew easier, than with the nomad diet she had grown up with. After breakfast, they had a first PE session, mostly running along the wall around the palace, regardless of the weather, to built stamina.  
School started at 0815 hours with a thorough education. They were taught maths and history, literature and languages, sciences and battle strategy, geography and weaponry, arts and everything in between. They had to sit straight and take precise notes. The teacher would control their note taking progress and if it was unsatisfactory, the girl had to retake all notes for the subject, no matter how long it took.  
Lunch was a silent affair and just as filling and nutritious as breakfast. It took place between lessons. But by 1600 hours the girls were led to the ballet room. They learnt to bend and strain their bodies in a painfully graceful way. Their slender limbs had to move in perfect synchrony or the cane of their instructor would come down hard and fast. 

That day, one girl — Anya — was again not able to keep up with the others. She had struggled since the beginning. Her coordination wasn’t up to par and her movements were sloppy at best. The last three days, Madam B had been watching their ballet classes. Her cold eyes trained on every minuscule mistake.  
Zaya tried not to feel intimidated by her steely gaze. She bend her back and felt her vertebrae groan at the angle. Her toes hurt and she knew, that there would be blood once she took the pointe shoes off. Her arms moved through the air, muscles tense but not to a point where it looked anything but effortless. The exercises were still easy enough. Sometimes they were allowed to watch the older girls and it showed them, that they truly were just at the very beginning of their education.

“Stop.”  
Madam B’s voice was neither loud nor especially harsh, but all movement stopped immediately. Zaya and the other girls stepped down and into a line. Madam B nodded to the instructor and the old lady left the room. They waited in perfect silence, their bodies not moving and their eyes trained on Madam B. When the door opened once more and an older girl entered together with the ballet instructor, Zaya had to work hard to keep her brows from furrowing.  
“Anya, step forward”, Madam B said. The ash-blonde took a hesitant step out of the line. Zaya’s eyes shot to the older girl, whose eyes widened slightly. Midnight blue eyes hastily returned to Madam B. There was nothing to read on their Madam’s face. Then she nodded.  
The teenager stepped forward and moved her hands from behind her back. A shot rang loudly through the air and Anya dropped to the floor. Her body made a loud thud and crimson blood pooled onto the wooden floor. Zaya felt some of the girls from her class flinch or even reel back. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from gasping loudly. Coppery blood flooded her taste buds as she broke skin. 

_  
_

When Zaya was nine and had spent three months at the Red Room, she learnt, that there was no use for emotional bonds.

_  
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* * *

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_

**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 12th November 1959_**

_  
_

From twenty girls in Zaya’s class, there were only twelve left. Two months ago, Zaya had watched another twenty girls arrive at the front court. The Soviet Union was flourishing and the Black Widow Program was held in high regard. Many families wished for their daughters to be worthy of joining those elite ranks. That it meant an early death more often than not…Zaya didn’t know, if the families were aware of that. She knew she had been aware of it. Her grandfather had been aware of it.  
Training had become harder. Ballet lessons more difficult. Their education more demanding. But Zaya flourished. As did other girls. And Zaya knew, that she had to distinguish herself, if she wanted to survive. She needed to be more than better. She needed to be the best. 

They came one evening after they had already turned off the light and cuffed them to their beds. Madam B and two other women. Madam B pointed to a girl and that girl would be freed of her cuffs and brought outside. A moment later, Madam B would return and take another girl. And then another. And another.  
When they came for Zaya, fear was eating at her insides and her mind was trying to find the one mistake she had made, that would warrant her death. 

They led her through cold corridors to the East wing of the building. The girls were never allowed to that part of the palace and it had Zaya wondering. She was brought into a room and her eyes swept it as she had been taught to do. There were two scientists clad in white lab coats preparing an examination chair. Only one possible escape route, but multiple things she could use as a weapon.  
“Sit”, Zaya was ordered and she climbed onto the chair to sit in it. Immediately her arms and legs were strapped to the chair. One of the female scientists swiped both crooks of her arms with alcohol wipes. Zaya didn’t flinch, when they pushed needles into her veins. She didn’t flinch, when electric blue liquid was pushed into her blood stream.  
But she screamed, when the pain started and her body felt as if it was burnt alive. 

_  
_

When Zaya was ten and had spent one year and two months at the Red Room, she learnt that chemicals hurt. 

_  
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* * *

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**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 7th October 1961_**

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_

“Again.” The voice of the instructor rang loud in Zaya’s ears. The girl rose to her toes and moved through the ballet sequence once more. Muscles tensing and loosening. Hands in a graceful gesture and chocolate-brown hair in a tight bun at the back of her neck. The leotard she wore clung to her childish frame and the tiny skirt flowed around her hips with her movements. Her whole body ached. Everything hurt.  
But the smile on her lips never faltered.

“Again.” Zaya got up from the ground at the sound of her instructor’s voice. She let go of her opponent and stood. Blood trickled from her split lip down her chin, but she didn’t dare move her hand to wipe at it. Instead, she turned towards the next girl in line and took a fighting stance. Her whole body ached. Everything hurt.  
But Zaya never faltered. 

_  
_

When Zaya was eleven and had spent three years and one month at the Red Room, she learnt, that ballet wasn’t that different from fighting.

_  
_

* * *

_  
_

**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 21st July 1962_**

_  
_

They injected the chemicals again. Zaya knew, that it enhanced her senses. It made her heal faster. And her muscles grow harder. It also made the magic tingle just underneath her skin and the beast in her claw at it’s chains. Not that she told the scientists about that. The old shaman ways of the tribe she hailed from were not to be shared with strangers. No matter the conditioning.  
The other girls didn’t scream as much as she did, Zaya knew that. At least those, who survived the chemicals. There were only eight of them left now. Zaya speculated, that her own magic mixed with the chemicals made her react stronger to the treatment. But it also made the chemicals more effective. Her statistics sky-rocketed and dwarfed the other girls. That was something the scientists did notice and it made them run even more tests and treatments on Zaya. 

She was brought to the room once more. They strapped her down, swapped the crooks of her arms and inserted needles into her veins.  
The burn that followed was a familiar sensation by then.  
It made her world black and her thoughts numb. 

Pain was everything, she knew. It took her and danced with her like she did in her ballet classes. 

Zaya floated in the nothing.  
She felt every cell in her body and none at the same time. 

She screamed. And screamed. Until her vocal chords gave out and she couldn’t scream any more. 

It felt as if life itself was drained out of her. As if her veins had been cut open for her to bleed and the cold was the only thing left.  
At the same time it felt, as if she was filled with life. Her magic thrummed within her whole being. Like a vortex swallowing her whole. And every time, she hoped to die.

_  
_

When Zaya was twelve and had spent three years and ten months at the Red Room, she learnt, that enduring pain could mean loosing oneself within the pain. 

_  
_

* * *

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_

**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 29th April 1964_**

_  
_

Zaya had killed many times before. Chickens. Goats. Horses. Foxes. It came with the life of a nomad. She also had seen many people die by now. Thirteen of her classmates to be precise. They had taught her to fire guns with both hands in all situations, while doing a ballet routine or with a blindfold over her eyes. Zaya had never missed. She was the best. Better than the girls in her class. Better than the girls in the classes beneath her. And better than the girls in the classes above her. Because Zaya had motivation to be the best. 

Her name was of Mongolian origin and meant fate or destiny. Her grandfather had questioned the stars and the ancestors at the night of her birth. He had given her the name Zaya, because he had seen, that she would mold the world’s fate. She would be the Great Wolf. She would make pain and death her friend and for that, she needed to be the best. 

When there sat a man in the room instead of the usual target, Zaya knew, that she wasn’t allowed to falter or fail. She raised the gun with shaking hands. Her breath stilled. And she pulled the trigger.  
The shot rang in her ears, clouding her thoughts and she didn’t dare to breath for another moment. 

Then everything came rushing back. Sensations crashed into her like a tidal wave. The noise of his blood tripping to the floor. The coppery scent of it. The silent praise in Madam B’s eyes. And Zaya felt nothing but nausea. Her gut churned and she felt the bile rise in her throat. But she swallowed it’s acidic venom down. She wasn’t allowed to react.  
So she stepped back with shaky steps next to her instructor. Her feet a hip’s width apart, her back straight, her chin held high and her hands behind her back, the hand holding the gun still trembling. Her eyes were wide and terrified, but she didn’t flinch, when Madam B harshly glanced at her.  
“Good”, she said and Zaya wanted to cry. 

_  
_

When Zaya was fourteen and had spent five years and seven months at the Red Room, she learnt, that killing a human was more difficult than killing an animal.

_  
_

* * *

_  
_

**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 10th January 1965_**

_  
_

Classical music flowed through the air. The room was only dimly lit. Zaya’s moves were controlled. Effortless. Her body bent itself with deadly precision. She had grown into herself over the years. Her dark-brown hair was put up in a bun, showing off her slender neck and slim shoulders. Her whole body was packed with subtle muscle. Nothing too obvious, but enough to make everything about her a weapon.  
Her mixed race was more obvious, than when she had been a child. Pale skin, high cheek-bones and angled eyes made her a perfect blend of Asian and Caucasian. It was hard to pin-point her ethnicity without knowing it. It made her perfect for the life as a Black Widow.  
Zaya was beyond beautiful and she had been taught to use it. 

There were only four left of them and except for some classes, they were now trained individually. It should make Zaya antsy, not being able to assess her competition. But instead it urged her to grow even more. If she did her best, she knew she would be the best among them all. So she pushed herself further and further. Trained harder and harder. Exercised focus and precision in everything she did.  
When the door opened and the instructor of the youngest ballet class entered, Zaya knew, what was expected of her. She followed without question. Her steps silent in her pointe shoes. The black leotard clinging to the growing curves of her body and the tiny skirt swishing around her hips like a silent promise. She was handed a gun, before she was led to the room. 

A line of girls between nine and ten stood there, all clad in the same ballet clothes as Zaya. Madam B was a silent, intimidating statue of coldness before them. Zaya lightly stepped into the room, the gun hidden behind her back. Her face a beautiful mask of nothing. 

“Katarina, step forward”, Madam B said monotonously. A girl with flaxen hair stepped out of the line. Her whole body shook and her green eyes stared at Zaya, wide and terrified. A silent plead in them. But Zaya was made of pale marble and Russian winter. She did not yield and she did not fail.  
Madam B nodded. Zaya moved without hesitation. The shot rang through the air and Katarina fell to the ground. Blood seeping from the hole between her eyes. 

_  
_

When Zaya was fifteen and had spent six years and four months at the Red Room, she learnt that killing wasn’t that difficult, after all.

_  
_

* * *

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_

**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 3rd November 1965_**

_  
_

Birthdays were nothing of importance at the Red Room. Birthdays were for children and they were no children, not since the moment they first stepped foot into the Academy. When the third of November came, it was no other day than any other given day of the year for Zaya. Or it should have been.  
But it was her sixteenth birthday and all the other girls of her class had already had their sixteenth. And they talked about it sometimes. In hushed whispers and with carefully blank faces. It made Zaya fear the day.

It had started to snow the day before. Their feet scrunched with the new snow as they ran around the wall like they did each morning. Zaya tried to ignore the nervous buzzing in her body. She shouldn’t be afraid. She shouldn’t feel anything at all. But she remembered the hidden horror in her classmates’ eyes. And it made the blood in her veins run as cold as the snow.  
Breakfast didn’t change either, there was nothing unusual and when they went to the shooting range to exercise their sniper abilities, Zaya wondered for a moment if they had forgotten her birthday. It was the first day in years, that she didn’t hit the bullseye with every bullet. The first time she had to get out and be the victim younger girls trained their water boarding on as punishment. Despite being trained for years to endure torture without a flinch, it was very unpleasant nonetheless.

By mid-afternoon her nerves were frayed and she loathed herself for that weakness. The other girls never said, what it was that happened on their sixteenth birthday. They just repeated, what Madam B said. A present like no other for them, as it marked an important step in their education. Surviving until sixteen. Not many did.  
But their eyes didn’t speak of a present. They spoke of hidden horror and fear. 

When they finally came to get her, took her out of the weaponry class and led her towards a room in the East wing, Zaya was barely able to hide her fear. The room they brought her to was sterile and only had a bed in it. No windows. Only one door. They told her to sit on the bed and wait. They had been taught to count seconds and minutes to always know how much time passed. So Zaya counted. And waited.  
And feared. 

Exactly 126 minutes later, the door opened once more and Zaya shot to her feet to assume the military stance, when Madam B entered. The woman regarded the girl with cold, emotionless eyes.  
“We have taught you almost everything, Aleksandra”, she said. “You are the best we ever had and we are proud of you.” Zaya’s chest swelled with pride at those words.  
“With your sixteenth birthday, we will start to send you on missions”, Madam B continued. Missions. Zaya could feel her whole being vibrate at that information. _Finally._  
“But before that”, cold eyes stared down at her, “we must make sure, that there are no distractions for you. Nothing to faze you. Nothing new. Especially not during missions involving seduction.” Zaya wasn’t able to stop her eyes form widening at that. Cold fear suddenly grabbed at her heart and squeezed. There was a knock on the door and her head flew around to look at it. 

“Enter”, Madam B said and the door opened. A middle-aged man clad in a high-ranking military uniform entered. His sharp green eyes immediately focused on Zaya.  
“We expect you to comply, Aleksandra”, Madam B ordered, looking directly at her.  
“Yes, Madam”, Zaya answered automatically. Breathing suddenly became hard. And it was even harder to keep her body from shaking.  
“Your reward, Colonel”, the blonde woman said towards the man with a gesture at Zaya, before she left the room. Zaya swallowed and didn’t dare to look at the man. She could hear her heart beat loudly. A rush in her ears and a fearful thrum in her veins. Fear. _Fear. **F e a r.**_  
A lewd smile spread on the face of the man, as he started to unbutton his uniform.

_  
_

When Zaya was sixteen and had spent seven years and two months at the Red Room, she learnt, that intimacy was a tool and she would need to learn how to use it.

_  
_

* * *

_  
_

**_Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 1st January 1967_**

_  
_

Something was different. Zaya felt it in the magic running through her veins and in the restlessness of their handlers. Right after breakfast they brought Nadia, Yelena and her into one of the training rooms. There they waited without moving. The only sound was their breathing.  
Then they heard steps outside and the door opened. Madam B entered and behind her two men. One was dressed in the uniform of a high ranking Soviet general, the other wore black, tactical gear and had a shiny metal arm with a red star on it’s shoulder.  
“Ladies”, Madam B said and all three girls moved in perfect synchrony to look at her, “these gentlemen are from HYDRA.” Zaya’s dark eyes shot to the general and then to the man with the metal arm. The Winter Soldier. They had been taught about HYDRA and their cause, about how they supported the Black Widow Program and about their perfect weapon. She steeled herself, knowing suddenly what was about to come.  
“HYDRA is kind enough to lend us their Winter Soldier to take on the last bit of your training”, Madam B continued, but Zaya’s eyes never left the Soldier. She took in his dark, long hair and his handsome face. The stubble on his chin and the pure muscle he seemed to be built from. There was no weakness she could spot. His eyes never lifted from the ground, not even trying to assess his opponents. It made Zaya even more wary. 

“Nadia. Yelena”, Madam B said and both teenagers stepped into the middle of the room. They faced each other and immediately began fighting. Zaya stood at the side and watched intently. She saw the too wide arch of Nadia’s punches. And the moment in Yelena’s kick, where her muscles were not tense enough. Her mind constantly analysed their strengths and weaknesses. Every punch Nadia placed, Yelena was able to counter and the other way around. It looked like a well-choreographed dance between two beautiful girls. But Zaya knew better. It was a fight to death.  
It took longer than Zaya had thought it would, until Nadia had Yelena in a tight choke hold. There was a minuscule nod from Madam B and a quick flexing of Nadia’s muscles. Then Yelena’s body slumped lifelessly to the ground, her neck broken. Automatically, Nadia stood and turned towards Zaya. Her breath was laboured and Zaya had to suppress her displeasure at fighting a less than fit opponent.  
“No”, Madam B said. “Step back, Nadia.” The girl took her place next to Zaya without question. Her chest still rose hastily, but she didn’t let any injury be shown.  
“Aleksandra, step up”, Madam B said. Zaya’s steps were graceful and carefully placed. Her whole gait smooth and dangerous. She stopped in the middle of the room, right next to Yelena’s corpse.  
“She is our best”, Madam B continued, her head tilted towards the HYDRA general.  
The man huffed. “Let’s see about that”, he said in a gruff tone. “Soldier.” Zaya suppressed the urge to take a deep breath. The Soldier stepped forward and up to Zaya’s side. Zaya immediately noticed her mistake. While the Soldier had nothing in his way, she was restricted in her movements by Yelena’s corpse. A mistake, that would cost her and one she wouldn’t make a second time. 

It took nothing but a nod from Madam B and the Soldier’s handler for them to turn towards each other. Midnight blue met bluish-grey. The tension was almost palpable in the air for the fraction of a second.  
Then Zaya _moved_. Fast and precise. Every sense focused on her target. The world turned grey and soundless around her. All she could see was the Soldier and the ripple in his muscles as he moved, too. 

She hit hard and danced away from Yelena’s corpse and her opponent. Her brows furrowed, when she had to duck right away. As her leg shot out to swipe the legs from underneath the Soldier, she wondered. Any other human should have been at least disoriented by her hard hit to the temple. He didn’t even flinch.  
Pain exploded from her left ankle. Her moment of distraction immediately punished, as the Soldier stepped onto her delicate leg. Zaya placed her hands on the ground to stabilise her body and swung her other leg up. It connected with his chin and made him take a step back, effectively freeing her left leg. She used the momentum of her kick to jump back on her feet, ignoring the blinding pain shooting up her left leg. 

It seemed as if the Soldier was surprised, that she had been able to hit him that hard. Zaya shamelessly used that distraction. A short tensing of her muscles, a quick flexing of her body and she had her thighs around his neck, spinning her upper body around him and using the force of the spin to bring him down to the ground. They fell together. Zaya controlled her landing perfectly and was about to tighten her thighs to cut off his air, when his metal arm clamped around her left ankle. Pain erupted in her body. Her muscles spasmed and she lost her focus.  
That moment of weakness was enough for the Soldier to push his body upon hers and bring his right hand around her throat. Zaya’s eyes widened as they met the coldness of his pale-blue ones, while he slowly suffocated her and all her attempts to break free from beneath his body were futile. 

_  
_

When Zaya was seventeen and had spent eight years and four months at the Red Room, she would learn, that there were far worse monsters out there than her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 20th January 1967**  


The arrival of the Winter Soldier had changed their routine. It switched to more training and less education. They knew everything the Red Room could teach them. Now it was about getting the finishing touches to make them into Black Widows worthy of the title. Nadia and Zaya fought every day for hours. And the Soldier watched them.  


Zaya felt her back harshly connect with the floor. In a move similar to how the Soldier had defeated her in their first fight, she rolled her body over and brought herself on top of Nadia. Her slim fingers snaked themselves around her slender neck and pressed. Zaya had won. Again.  
“Stop”, the Soldier said. Zaya let go of Nadia and stood smoothly from the ground.  
“Nadia, sloppy”, their new instructor continued in his raspy tone. “Aleksandra, good.” He wasn’t a man of many words, but what he said had weight. This time — as so many before — it meant, that Nadia had to leave the room and train with the fight instructor from the Red Room, while Zaya had the questionable privilege to be trained by the Soldier.  


Zaya stayed where she was as Nadia made her way out of the room. Her midnight blue eyes fixed on the Soldier. Her lips curled into a tiny smirk, when the door fell shut behind Nadia. Zaya had learnt, that the Soldier was a bit more lenient with expressions than her other instructors and she shamelessly took advantage of it. The more daring character hailing from the beast inside her coming out to play more often now.  
“What is it today, Soldier?”, Zaya asked with a minuscule cocky lilt to her tone. “Knife play? Close contact?” The ghost of amusement seemed to flit through his blue eyes. He became more human with every day he spent at the Red Room. Where he had been close to an emotionless robot two weeks ago, there were now echoes of human reactions at times to Zaya’s playful jabs. And Zaya had found, that she _liked_ to elicit those reactions from him. To see the barely visible hint of a smile on his lips or the way his blue eyes lit up with the ghost of mirth.  
“Or we could dance”, Zaya suggested with a sultry smile. “Dancing is like fighting, isn’t it? So, dance with me, Soldier.” Something stopped in his expression the moment the words had left her lips. His brows furrowed and his mouth parted slightly as his eyes glazed over in a thousand-yard-stare. Zaya’s muscles tensed and her senses became more alert in retaliation of the unexpected change in him. Her feet widened their stance subtly.  


Then the moment was gone and the usual closed-off expression was back on his face, though there was still a bit of confusion in his eyes, that Zaya could still detect. He attacked without a moment’s notice. Zaya reacted with quick instincts. But he was more ruthless than usual and had her in a tight choke hold only seconds later.  
“This close enough, little spider?”, he whispered gravelly into her ear. A shiver ran through her body as his warm breath fanned over her neck. She pressed herself closer to him, felt every hard muscle of his torso and snaked one leg around his.  
“Never”, she replied hotly and pulled his leg from beneath his body. They tumbled to the ground together. Zaya using her body during their fall, so she would end up on top, pinning him down. She rolled her hips into his with a tiny smirk dancing on her lips. He groaned and pushed her off him, turning them over so his heavy body pinned her down now. One leg betweens hers, one hand holding both of hers above her head and the metal one around her throat. Cold, blue eyes met dark-blue ones.  
“You still got a lot of growing up to do, little spider”, he said simply and stood. Zaya had to fight the pout, that wanted to creep onto her face. But she stood as well and got into a fighting stance. This time, she attacked first.  


_  
_

* * *

_  
_

**Red Room Academy, Solovyovo, Soviet Union, 11th February 1967**  


Zaya’s movements were controlled and perfect. The arch in her back. The balance on her toes. The graceful gestures of her hands. The dip of her head in time to the music.  
The perfect little ballerina for Madam B.  


They told her to be a Widow. To comply and do her country proud. The constant drills of ballet exercises until her feet bled were meant as a punishment for loosing against the Winter Soldier. But Zaya remembered her grandfather’s words. Remembered, that she was _so much more_ than a Widow. She was made for a crown on her head and thick, crimson blood dripping from her hands.  
Her body flowed through the movements like water. Fluid and strong.  


They told her they carved her from marble. To never break and never falter. And Zaya took the pieces they carved and built herself from them into a wolf in a spider’s guise. She loved the ballet exercises, for they gave her peace and a sense of self. She thrived during sparring matches, even if she lost against the Soldier. Zaya was patient. She would bide her time like the wolf waiting for prey, for the perfect moment to strike. Observing. Waiting. To succeed in the end.  
Her muscles stretched and coiled in her silent dance.  


They told her to be a delicate flower, pretty but poisonous. To listen well and kill even better. And Zaya took the mantle of the flower maiden, the silent killer, with such perfection, that they never saw the chaos brewing beneath her skin. The darkness flowing through her magic and the viciousness in the tender smile of her red-painted lips. Her time would come and once she had found the gate to the underworld, they would quiver in fear.  


The door suddenly opened and Madam B strode in. Steps confident and expression blank. Zaya stopped her dancing and immediately let her body move into a compliant, but ready stance. Her head lowered, but her deep, dark eyes looking up through dark lashes.  
“The Widows are the pride of the Soviet Union”, Madam B started, cold eyes on her best student. “We train you to be the best. We train you to be deadly. We train you to never loose. So why is it, that you loose against the Winter Soldier?” Zaya had no answer. Not yet. She was still analysing his weaknesses.  
“He doesn’t have an obvious weakness. I analysed him”, she said. Madam B took a sharp step closer and a moment later, Zaya’s head whipped to the side from the hard backhand. Her cheek hurt as she immediately turned her head towards Madam B again.  
“You have no weakness.” The blonde’s tone was still completely monotone. “We are better than HYDRA. You are better than that deranged experiment they call a weapon. He’s a mindless tool. A sharp blade without the right handler. You are so much more than that. We made you so much more. Not just the weapon, but also the handler. You are perfection. _Show it_.”  
“Yes, Madam”, Zaya intoned immediately. Cold eyes scrutinised her closely.  
“You’re sparring in ten minutes”, Madam B said. “Change.”  


Zaya’s steps weren’t hurried, as she left the ballet hall and went to the small room she shared with Nadia to change into gym clothes. She knew, that if she lost again today, there would be punishment. Her expression hardened as she walked through empty corridors. Today, she wasn’t allowed to loose.  
When she entered the room, she saw the Soldier easily put Nadia into a choke hold. Her eyes bulged and she tried to frantically get out of the hold, as her air was slowly cut off. The Soldier had his eyes on Zaya, as he kept the hold. She furrowed her brows, as he just didn’t let Nadia go. It was a demonstration of power. Of HYDRA being more powerful than a Black Widow. Truly, there wasn’t much love left between Nadia and Zaya, but that would be a cruel way to go.  
Nadia fell to the ground coughing and gasping for air as soon as the Soldier let go.  
“Sloppy. You need to watch your left side more”, was all he said, before he stepped away from the girl on the ground. Bluish-grey eyes trained on Zaya, a silent summon in them.  


As she walked towards him, her steps were light and her muscles tightly coiled, ready to pounce at her prey any given moment. He widened his stance and lowered his body’s centre of gravity in reaction to her prowl. A tiny smile curled around Zaya’s lips.  
Nadia was getting up and out of the way, just as the door opened and Madam B as well as the Soldier’s handler entered. Neither broke Zaya’s or the Soldier’s focus on each other. Zaya knew from their matches, that his upper body strength was incomparable; that he was surprisingly fast and flexible for his built and that his stamina was definitely above hers. Zaya also knew, that she was faster and definitely more flexible; that her lower body strength was nothing to laugh at and her moves were less predictable than his. She had taken a beating. For weeks. To watch him, to become so familiar with him that she could predict his movements and come up with a sure way to beat him.  


Zaya _moved_. Fast and precise. She swung into a cartwheel to kick her legs up and bring the heel towards his left temple. There wasn’t as much power behind the kick as usual. She’d need it to give her body a momentum change.  
The Soldier grabbed the ankle of the leg swinging towards him. A tiny smirk played around Zaya’s lips. _Predictable_.  
Her hands pushed up from the ground as she brought her other leg around his neck. Her body soared through the air. Then she sat on his shoulders, one leg securely wrapped around him, the other still in his tight hold. She felt him grip her right leg with his other hand to pry it off him. _No use_.  
Zaya leaned towards his head, her stomach touching the back of it for a moment, and then swung her whole upper body back and down. For a moment it felt like they were floating. Then her hands connected with the ground, softening her landing, while the Soldier crashed down hard onto his back in between her legs. She felt his grip loosen slightly. Not enough for anyone else to wriggle out of his hands, but enough for Zaya.  
Blazingly fast she changed the position of her legs from his neck to warp them around his upper arms and chest. She crossed her ankles the moment she leaned up and snaked her hands and arms around his head.  


A perfect choke hold. Her legs didn’t give him enough freedom of movement in his arms to pry her off and if he used his legs to turn them around, he would inevitably snap his own neck in her tight hold the moment he moved his body to any side. He stopped moving altogether. A tiny, triumphant smirk curled up the corners of Zaya’s mouth. She had won.  


Her dark eyes locked onto Madam B. She instinctively knew, that the Soldier looked at his own handler.  
Both waiting for orders.  


For a moment nothing happened. A display of power on Madam B’s part. The Red Room had defeated HYDRA. Zaya had defeated the Winter Soldier. The pride of the Black Widow Program was better, than the most feared weapon of the many-headed monster.  
Then Madam B shook her head and Zaya let immediately loose. She unfurled her legs and took her arms away from his head. She slid them down the sides of his neck, his shoulders and then off. It seemed, as if he lingered in the position just to keep the contact with her body.  


A heart beat later, they both stood next to each other in a loose military stance. Waiting for orders.  
“Good”, Madam B praised with a stoic expression and monotone words.  
“Again”, the Soldier’s handler spoke up, face contorted in an angry snarl. Zaya wanted to roll her eyes. _So emotional_.  
Without question, she and the Soldier moved to look at each other once more. Her mind ran a mile a minute. She wouldn’t defeat him with the same trick twice. Fortunately, she had another few string of moves concocted, that should bring him down. And if not…Zaya was excellent in improvisation. The time to analyse was over. Now she was fighting.  
And she had a feeling, as if the Soldier knew. There was a tiny gleam she hadn’t ever seen in his bluish-grey eyes, when he focused on her. Respect. And…was that a small smidge of excitement?  


The way Zaya and the Winter Soldier trained changed after that.  
Where the first one and a half months, Zaya had taken beating after beating, the Soldier and her now became more evenly matched with each fight. And when Madam B and th Soldier’s handler stopped watching so much, there grew to be an unfamiliar lightness to their matches. They slowly felt more like sparring, than fighting. In a strange way, they became more like partners training each other than opponents fighting each other.  


Sensing the more playful than serious notes in their matches, Zaya teased the Soldier endlessly with cocky remarks or a sultry comment whispered hotly into his ear. He seldom reacted verbally to them, mostly just telling her, that little spiders like her had to grow up before they could play with the big boys.  
But whenever they had each other in tight holds, their bodies pressing against each other, he seemed to linger in the contact longer than necessary. Zaya certainly wasn’t complaining about that.  
Sometimes she felt a bit like the young pup yipping at the old wolf’s heels.  
Or maybe she truly was Persephone walking into the underworld with no care whatsoever in search of an adventure to find none other than Hades.  


_  
_

* * *

_  
_

**St. Petersburg Ballet Theatre, Saint Petersburg, Soviet Union, 3rd March 1967**  


The smile never faltered from Zaya’s face. Her steps were secure as she weaved through the crowds of well-dressed people, balancing a tray with champagne flutes effortlessly. She made her way towards the private boxes of the theatre. The intermission was just about to end and the Russian ballet would continue their show in just a few minutes. Enough time for Zaya to carry out her very first mission.  
She knocked on the door of the box. “Champagne, Sir?”, she called out in a timid voice. The door opened to reveal three middle-aged men in suits. Zaya stepped in, her lips painted in a timid smile, but her eyes quickly assessing her surroundings.  
“Now that’s a sight for sore eyes”, her target, a liberal politician, grinned at her. The others smirked and took each a flute from the tray, before Zaya’s mid was grabbed by her target and her body was pulled towards his. Warm arm heavy on her slender, muscled body.  


“Who are you, little bird?”, he asked, a lecherous look in his eyes as they trailed over her frail stature.  
“Yana, Sir”, Zaya answered with a shy glance up, before she quickly averted her eyes.  
“Yana”, he licked his lips, tasted her fake name. “You a student here?” Zaya nodded shyly. She wanted to curl her fingers around his throat and slowly squeeze the life out of him.  
“You’re young”, he looked her over once more. “How old are you?”  
“Seventeen, Sir”, Zaya answered dutifully and took a flute of champagne from her tray. A slight brush of her fingers against the ring she wore and poison trickled into the glass. She handed it to her target. “I’ve been considered for understudy in the upcoming season.” Her target took a large sip from his champagne as he regarded her. Eyes trailing over the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts and the flimsy skirt covering her ass, but inviting everyone to leer at her long legs.  
Zaya felt her skin crawl and the sudden need to take a long shower.  


“You be nice to me and I’ll make you prima ballerina in no time”, he promised with a lewd smirk and squeezed her ass. Zaya made herself blush and flounder.  
She heard a tiny growl come through the comm hidden beneath her hair.  
“I…I’m sorry, Sir”, she stuttered and turned her body out of his grasp. Zaya wondered, whether a nice little bullet right between his eyes would satisfy her more. The gong indicating the end of the intermission sounded right that moment.  
In a show of horror, Zaya let her eyes grow wide and fearful. “I have to go. If…if they find me here!” She gave her best pleading expression and then ran from the box. Laughter following her outside.  
Still in her role of the flustered ballet student made to waitress at the show, Zaya hastily walked through the corridors and to the restrooms for the waitresses. There she made sure she was alone, before she let a sly smirk curl her lips.  


She hastily changed out of the waitress uniform and back into her black, tactical catsuit. She put the uniform into a backpack and vanished through a back door out into the mild temperatures of continental Russia.  
The back door had led to a small side alley usually used for food deliveries. A slight shift in the air was all, that alerted her to his arrival. Zaya easily fell in step with the Soldier, as they made their way to the back of the alley.  
A triumphant smile crept onto Zaya’s lips as she felt him walk a bit closer than necessary.  
“Did you really growl, when he made advances on me?”, she asked with a playful lilt to her velvety voice.  


He moved faster, than she had anticipated. Her upper arms were suddenly enclosed in a steel grip and her back was harshly pushed against the wall. He pressed one leg between hers and his solid frame caught her between him and the wall. She could feel his breath fan hotly across her face as he leaned down towards her. Bluish-grey eyes more intense, than Zaya had ever seen them.  
“I don’t share”, he all but growled into her ear. For a second, he pushed more into her body. Savouring the touch like a parched man. Zaya felt a moan roll up her throat. It tasted sweet and promising on her tongue.  
Her eyes dared to flutter shut, but she kept them trained on the intense, piercing blue of his eyes.  


Then he suddenly shied away from her as if she had electrocuted him. He stalked down the ally without another look at her.  


He had never done anything like that. Zaya had teased him relentlessly during their sparring matches, but he always told her to grow up some more. A devious smirk flit across her features. Who knew, that the Soldier was a possessive bastard and all it took was another man touching her for him to finally snap?  
She hurried after him and as they reached the wall, she crouched down and offered her intertwined hands as a spring board for him. His heavy boot was harsh against her skin as she helped him jump to the top of the wall. Then he reached down and pulled her up as if she weighed nothing. It made Zaya’s skin tingle at the display of raw strength.  


On the other side stood a car and as they entered and Zaya closed the door, she looked to him.  
“Just for the record”, she said with a tiny curl to her lips as he started the car. “I don’t share either.” Zaya let her left hand travel to his thigh and placed it there in a possessive gesture. He stiffened under her touch, but then relaxed, eyes never leaving the road as he rushed through Saint Petersburg’s traffic. There was a barely visible, crooked smile lifting the corners of his mouth.  


Zaya turned on the radio, not because she liked music. She wasn’t allowed to like anything. The fact that she liked to get reactions out of the Soldier was a well-kept secret. One she would take to her grave if need be.  
She glanced at him and when he looked back, she knew that he had the same secret. And he too would die for it. Her cold, dark eyes melted into a sea of midnight skies and dark oceans. It was a silent promise, that passed between them.  


The news broke half-way back to the Red Room Academy. The politician had died of a heart attack in the middle of Swan Lake’s final act.  
“Very poetically timed”, the Soldier murmured lowly with the hint of a lopsided smile.  
Zaya rose an eyebrow in her perfectly expressionless face. “I have no idea, what you’re talking about.” He shot her a sceptical look. _Yeah, right_.  
Zaya couldn’t quite help the triumphant smile curling her lips. She found, that she liked his praise more than Madam B’s. A dangerous sentiment.  


They reached the secluded Academy without any problems or any more words spoken.  
The Soldier parked the car inside the front court and stalked ahead as usual. But when they entered the Academy, he held the door open for her.  
Zaya shot him a sharp side-glance, though he looked just as confused at his actions as she.  


The young Widow didn’t comment on it, she simply walked past him and led their way to Madam B’s office for a debrief with her and the Soldier’s handle.  
Many eyes followed them through the corridors. Younger students, instructors, elder students. Zaya could feel him walk a bit closer to her back. She could almost imagine his breath on her neck and as much as it should unsettle her…it strangely reassured her. His presence was a silent promise. He would have her back.  
A tiny, confident smile curled deviously around her red-painted lips, when she felt the envious gazes of the elder Widows on her.  


“Mission successful. Target was eliminated”, Zaya reported monotonously as they both stood in front of Madam B and the Soldier’s handler. She had her back straight and her legs a hip-width apart, her hands were behind her back. A military stance. Her muscles coiled and ready to snap at a moment’s notice.  
“Good, Aleksandra”, Madam B said, her eyes fixed on her most priced student. Then she turned her eyes towards the Soldier. “Report.”  
“Mission successful”, his gravel voice sounded from next to Zaya. “Execution flawless. No need to intervene at any point.” She almost felt her insides melt at the praise.  
“Good. You’re back in time for your regular training session”, the Madam said with a glance to the HYDRA handler next to her. The man simply nodded and both Zaya and the Soldier made their way out of the debriefing room and towards the training room they usually occupied. Eyes following them once more.  
And he once more reduced the space between them, a looming shadow behind her. Almost protective in a dark, twisted way. Or maybe it was more twisted, that Zaya felt protected for the first time again in many years.  


They immediately fell into an almost lazy exchange of punches and kicks and jabs as soon as they stepped into the room and the door closed behind them. With every hit, with every touch, their movements got harsher and more powerful.  
Frustrated by the game, Zaya jumped up and brought her legs around his neck in a typical Widow move. The Soldier grabbed her thighs and crashed her against a wall. Zaya gasped as the air was forced from her lungs. Her back would be blue and green come morning.  
It gave the Soldier enough time to pull her legs from his neck and put them around his hips. His firm body pressed her up against the wall, as his hands wandered from her thighs to her ass.  


“Did he touch you here?”, he demanded to know. His voice a husky whisper against her neck. A shiver ran through Zaya and shot right down between her legs.  
“I gather you didn’t like that?”, she asked with a tiny smirk. A moan escaped her lips as he squeezed her ass hard in answer.  
She brought her hands to his shoulders. Her muscles tensed and she pushed away from the wall. They crashed to the ground, effectively changing who was in control.  


“You know”, she whispered, as she straddled him. “I don’t like how Nadia is touching you, either.” Her nimble fingers roamed over his tactical gear, up his chest and over his arms to pin them. She rolled her hips to emphasise her next words. “ _I don’t share_.”  
He flipped them easily. Now his metal hand pinning her arms above her head and his other travelling over her stomach and up her rib cage.  
“Neither do I”, he growled out. “You’re mine.” His hand stopped right beneath her breasts.  
“Is that so, Soldier?”, Zaya asked with a pretty gleam in her eyes. “Then you’re mine, too.” She rolled her hips up and arched her back into his touch. A tiny groan fell from his lips, making her skin tingle even more.  
“Careful with what you’re playing with, Sasha”, he whispered lowly, shortening the name they had given her to something, that made Zaya feel warm and comfortable. His tone an almost familiar echo of teasing.  


Within the blink of an eye Zaya had them flipped over once more and dove to put him into a choke hold. The door opened a second later and Madam B entered, very satisfied in seeing a startled Winter Soldier defeated by her best student.  
“Very good, Aleksandra”, she said and Zaya let go immediately.  
The dark-haired girl stood gracefully and gave the Soldier a hidden wink and a wicked curl of her lips. She was playing a dangerous game, indeed.  


But if the almost predatory look in his piercing eyes was something to go by, Zaya knew, that she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the thrill.  


_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, guys.
> 
> Updates will continue to be irregular and slow. _Sorry!_ I got too many different stories in my mind and try to do them justice all at once!
> 
> But....if you like my writing you can always head over to my profile and check out my other stories. I just uploaded one for the Star Wars fandom. 
> 
> Anyway, _THANK YOU_ so much for all the feedback I got for _Dance macabre_!! It makes my heart sing!  
> I will try and reply to your comments as soon as possible.
> 
> Read ya soon,  
> Murphy


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